


Head of the Household

by Azzandra



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Death, F/M, Hawke is a Magister, Magisters, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con References, Slavery, Tevinter, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a kink meme prompt:</p><p>  <i>Ridiculously long and absurd prompt is ridiculously long and absurd</i></p><p>  <i>Hawke with her family leaves Lothering a few years before the Blight and they end up in Tevinter, not in Kirkwall. FemMage!Hawke rises to power and becomes a Magister (but is not as cruel as the others, as she grew up in Ferelden with a strong moral code- She doesn't use slaves). She, of course, meets our dear friend Danarius.</i></p><p>  <i>There's a power struggle and Hawke kills him - which means she can have his houses, his money and- of course- his slaves. Guess who hadn't escaped yet?</i></p><p>  <i>That's right- I want AlreadyAmnesiac!Slave!Fenris/MagisterHawke. If there is a relationship the two, please let it be consensual! (and in my headcanon Danarius totally raped Fenris)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Head of the Household

Danarius' corpse hadn't even started cooling when Hadriana sidled up to Hawke and informed her that she now had ownership over all of his holdings.

Hawke, adrenaline still coursing through her system so soon after the duel, turned to look at the sharp-featured woman.

"Pardon?" Hawke said slowly.

"An old tradition," came the reply, as the brunette woman gestured airily. "If you kill another magister in an officially sanctioned duel, all his property—houses, money, slaves, so on—becomes yours."

"And you are...?" Hawke asked cautiously.

"Hadriana. I was Danarius' apprentice," she clarified with a tight smile. "And yours now, if you would have me."

Hawke looked back at the bloody spot on the ground where Danarius' body had been slunk, impaled on a well-placed icicle. Someone had removed the dead man and carried him off somewhere, leaving only a messy puddle behind.

"I don't think I'm really qualified to be teaching anyone," Hawke muttered.

"Do not worry yourself overly much. You may be a foreigner and new to our ways, but already, you have carved your path to power in this city," Hadriana said with enviable confidence. "I suspect there is little you cannot do."

Hawke felt a twinge of dislike at the woman's flattery. She'd heard similar praise before—the Tevinters were much too quick to lavish compliments on those they perceived as powerful—but Hadriana reminded her of a snake, coiled in the underbrush, ready to strike at a moment of weakness.

For now, though, she might have her uses.

"His house, you say...?" Hawke asked.

Hadriana's eyes glinted with cold ambition at the chance to make herself useful.

* * *

It had been somewhat of a surprise to hear that the Amell line had originated from the Tevinter Imperium, though it made sense somewhat. It was hard to name a noble family in Kirkwall that hadn't had its roots in the Imperium. It was something more of a surprise to find out that her mother's noble lineage qualified Hawke for a seat in the Senate, and while she initially felt some mild revulsion at the thought of having anything to do with the ruthless magisters, she eventually came to terms with the fact that it was probably the most efficient way to protect her family.

She even got used to it a bit, being surrounded by blood mages and backstabbers, having to watch her every step as she navigated the convoluted Imperium politics and strict social hierarchy. She'd even recovered the old Amell estate, which had been taken over by some middling magister after the last of the Tevinter Amells died out twenty years prior. It had not been maintained properly—the magister in question could afford the estate, but not the upkeep, so he simply left the house to rot—and she'd been planning to look for new lodgings when the problem with Danarius came up.

She wasn't completely sure what she'd done to win his antagonism, but she could guess that it was probably not much. Magisters were quick to eliminate anyone they saw as a threat. He'd sent several assassins after her, until she'd finally gotten his name out of one. She'd planned merely to confront Danarius, but he chose to challenge her to a duel; and he cheated, too. He brought several other mages at the agreed-upon location, probably thinking that there was strength in numbers. Against another Tevinter magister, certainly, he might have won; but Malcolm Hawke had taught his little girl how to fight with templars in mind, meaning she knew how to face down multiple opponents using speed and her staff, even if her magic failed her. And her magic certainly did not fail her that day, as she weaved through the group of mages, all visibly sedentary creatures and not used to all that moving around while casting, and she took them out one at a time until finally Danarius was forced to face her alone.

In a final, desperate move, Danarius raised his staff and electricity began to crackle around it. Hawke knew he was preparing a tempest, so she ran towards him and cast a cone of cold. The icicles shot up towards his midsection, summarily impaling him. Danarius died with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

And Hawke got his house.

* * *

Hadriana seemed to know her way quite well around the sprawling estate. The house slaves recognized her and Hadriana, in turn, barked orders at them with the ease of long practice.

"Danarius is dead. This is your new master," Hadriana informed the frail elven girl that met them at the door.

The slave girl prostrated herself before Hawke, murmuring a frightened greeting.

"Summon the rest," Hadriana ordered, and, as the girl did not move fast enough, she swiftly delivered a kick to her ribs. "Now, you lazy cow!" she screamed as the girl scurried off.

Hawke froze in shock at this display; it was not something new, she'd seen such scenes often before, but most people at least pretended to be kind to their slaves.

"Hadriana," Hawke said in a slow, dangerous tone, "You will never do that again."

Hadriana grew very still, a flash of panic on her face.

"Of course not, Lady Hawke," she crooned in her most placating voice. "I do apologize. Force of habit, I'm afraid. Danarius allowed me to discipline his slaves. I am quite sorry for touching your property without receiving the same permission first."

Hawke's lips tightened. She wanted to say that Hadriana had completely missed the point, but ever since coming here from Ferelden, she'd had the same frustrating conversation hundreds of times.

She was lead to a large antechamber, where about a dozen slaves were lined up, most of them elven; the elves were preferred as house slaves because, as one magister had explained it to her, "they're decorative and they don't take up much room". Hawke rather thought that it was because their smaller frames made them inadequate for the harder, outdoor labor, but she had no admiration for the Tevinters' pragmatism in this regard.

"These are only the house slaves, of course," Hadriana explained, confirming Hawke's suspicion. "There are at least twice as many in Danari—I mean,  _your_ holdings up north."

A man stepped forward, and Hawke could see by his posture that he was no slave, but he still bowed nervously and sweated profusely under her scrutiny. He was middle-aged and balding, but he kept himself in trim shape, and his clothes were practical, but made of fine textiles.

"Ah, yes—Severian, the steward," Hadriana nodded. "He managed Danarius' household. He is a dedicated servant. You might wish to keep him."

"I'd want to disrupt the household at little as possible," Hawke said, and the man relaxed visibly.

"Shall I show you the property?" Severian offered, gesturing widely towards the slaves.

Hawke knew what "showing" meant; she'd seen slavers at the market plying their trade, showing potential customers what good teeth this one has, and what good calves this other one, and look at this one's strong back, and this one's still young, you can get a good twenty years out of him still. She had no desire for such a display at the moment, especially not with that... distasteful woman at her side.

"Not right now, Severian," she said, maybe a little more harshly than she intended. The steward shrunk back, unsure what he'd done wrong. "I should send a message to my family first. They might think I'm dead, otherwise."

"Ah, of course," Severian nodded, eager to be given a task. "I shall send a messenger right away. Shall I fetch the ink and paper?"

"Do that," Hawke nodded.

Of course, when Severian said that he'd fetch those items, what that meant was that he sent a slave to do it for him. The elven boy, most likely no older than thirteen, absolved himself of the task promptly, though by the stern look Severian threw him, probably not promptly enough.

Hawke wrote a simple message to Mother, assuring her that she was fine and explaining the situation in brief. She considered telling her family to come over, but it was probably too soon for that; she wanted to better assess the situation before potentially walking them into danger.

"I'd like to see the house, if you don't mind," she told Severian.

"Of course, mistress. This way, please."

Hadriana made to follow them, but Hawke turned around to face her before she could make a step.

"Hadriana, I thank you for your help, however, I think we should discuss your apprenticeship at another time," she said.

Hadriana's expression remained admirably neutral, but Hawke knew that she'd guessed correctly at the reason the woman had been following her around. She wanted a definitive answer one way or another.

"I shall send you a message soon, after I've settled my affairs," Hawke said again, as Hadriana was opening her mouth. "For now, go home and rest. I am sure it has been a long day for you too."

Though she was visibly dismayed, Hadriana found no way to argue against this unambiguous dismissal. So instead, she threw some last bits of flattery Hawke's way and made her goodbyes with more pomp than necessary.

Relieved to see her go, Hawke turned to Severian and had a long discussion about Danarius' financial status.

* * *

After seeing every room in the house, after hearing about the history of every piece of statuary in the place, the value of every tapestry, the origin of every painting, after receiving every assurance that Danarius' finances had been robust and that she had inherited no outstanding debts, after hearing a seemingly never-ending list of the slaves she now owned and all their various skills, Hawke found herself completely worn out by the events of the day.

"Shall I have a bed prepared for you, mistress?" Severian asked, coincidentally after Hawke surreptitiously yawned in her palm.

"Oh—I suppose it's a bit late to walk home," Hawke shrugged. Besides which, she had to get used to the mansion eventually; might as well start that night.

"Shall I—that is, would you prefer Lord Danarius' old room?" Severian asked, at an impasse.

Hawke shuddered.

"That would a bit morbid, no?" she pointed out.

"As you say, mistress. A guest room, then?" he suggested. "At least until you choose more suitable quarters?"

"Certainly."

Severian relayed his instructions to a pair of wide-eyed slave women, who ran off to fetch new sheets and prepare the room.

"Will you be having dinner?" the steward asked.

"No, that's quite alright," Hawke waved off the offer. She didn't think she could so much as make it half-way through a plate of soup without nodding off, and she didn't think being found asleep face-first in the evening meal would do much to awe her new staff. "I'll simply have a big breakfast tomorrow."

"As you say."

* * *

When she entered the room, she was surprised to see that she was not the only one there. Kneeling next to the bed was a shirtless elf with striking white hair. His gaze was lowered submissively to the ground and his hair fell over his face, obscuring most of it, but what caught Hawke's eye were the intricate markings running up and down his arms and torso.

She realized she'd been hovering in the door frame and staring for longer than strictly polite, so she stepped into the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

"Hello?" she said softly, tilting her head to catch the elf's gaze. "And you are?"

"Fenris, mistress," he replied in a deep, rumbling voice that she would have found utterly leg-melting in any other situation. "I was Danarius' personal bodyguard." He still did not look up.

"I see." Hawke stopped a few steps away from him. "Having a bodyguard didn't help him out much in the end, hm?"

Fenris tensed, and Hawke realized belatedly that he might take that remark as an indictment. Hawke knew, from what Hadriana had explained on the way over, that for the duel to be legal, he would have had to bring only other mages along. He'd  _had_  to leave Fenris behind. But that did not mean the elf was not skilled. In fact, considering the number of enemies Danarius had, he was probably  _very_  skilled to be entrusted with this task. Which didn't explain why he was here, in her room, shirtless.

"You were with Danarius all the time?" Hawke asked on an impulse. "Even when he slept?"

"Yes, mistress," came the sedate response.

"What, really? You slept at the foot of his bed or something?"

"Yes, mistress." Then, after a breath's hesitation, "Except after he required me to service him. He would sometimes allow me to sleep in his bed afterward."

Hawke felt the taste of bile in her mouth. Whenever she thought she was growing used to these Tevinters and their barbaric traditions, whenever she thought she'd finally seen enough bad things, something like this happened, reminding her why she hated this place. She calmed her burgeoning rage by bringing up the image of Danarius, slumped over dead with that stupid expression on his face.

Taking a deep breath, she crouched down next to him.

"Hey," she said softly. "Look at me."

He turned his eyes to her; they were a soothing green shade, and filled with apprehension that he was visibly making an effort to hide.

"Do you have a bed of your own?"

"No, mistress," he replied. By the tense way he held her gaze, it was clear that he wanted to look away. She'd given an order, however, and his servile instincts did not allow him to do so. "If you do not want me here, I can sleep outside your door."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she scoffed.

She threw a glance around the room. It was large and cluttered with furniture of all types, including a promising-looking divan in the far corner. She went to the bed and took off the coverlet. She was still used to the frigid weather in Ferelden and would not need two blankets in the dry heat of Tevinter. Fenris was startled as she reached for him, but did not protest when she grasped his hand and tugged him to his feet.

"We'll make other arrangements tomorrow," Hawke said, showing him to the divan. "But I will not have you sleeping on the floor," she continued, giving him a firm look, as if expecting some sort of argument. It was a moot point really, since even if Fenris had the inclination to argue, it would not be with someone of Hawke's status.

"Yes, mistress," he said, meekly stretching himself on the divan as she clearly expected him to. "Do you... not wish for me to help you undress?"

Hawke huffed at this offer.

"Another service you performed for Danarius, I presume," she muttered, more to herself than him. Fenris did not mind. He was used to getting talked at, rather than talked to.

Her face softened unexpectedly just then, and she pulled the coverlet over him. She hesitated for a moment, before she gently ran her fingers through his hair.

Fenris inhaled sharply at the touch; it was something Danarius would do sometimes, as well. A small affection that signaled he would spend a long night in his master's bed. He tensely waited for the order.

"Get some sleep, alright?" she said, and got to her feet to prepare herself for bed.

He watched her unlace her robes. It was something he should have rightfully been helping her with, and it felt oddly transgressive for him to simply lie there while his mistress busied herself alone.

She looked over her shoulder at him just then.

"No peeking," she said, and Fenris flinched, covering his face with the soft blanket.

He resigned himself that night, before falling asleep, to the fact that his new mistress did not like him very much. She did not desire his protection nor his help—she did not even want him looking upon her!-and she would doubtlessly have him sold off soon.

He felt a lingering spark of outrage at this rejection. Danarius would have smothered such dangerous feelings, as they were unbefitting a slave, but Danarius was gone now. All that remained was the strange Fereldan woman, and her odd demeanor only stoked the fires that he'd thought guttered out.

 

For the sake of convenience, Hawke set herself up in Danarius' study. Here he kept not only all of his paperwork, but also all records of his research. Her initial enthusiasm at having access to his magical studies dimmed somewhat when she discovered that most of it relied heavily on blood magic—and if she lived her entire life in Tevinter, she would never, ever blemish her father's memory by taking up with demons—so instead, she was working on the whole Hadriana situation.

The biggest problem was that apprenticeships in the Imperium seemed to be little more than an elaborate transaction. The aspirant mage made a "gift" (more like a bribe, in Hawke's opinion) to a magister, and if the magister accepted the tithe, he would take this person as his apprentice for several years, varying from a few, to nearly a lifetime, depending on the magister. During that period, there would be various sanctioned occasions where the apprentice would have to present various gifts to the magister. In return, the magister would not only reveal his arcane secrets, but would also help the apprentice gain political momentum. The higher an apprentice got on the social hierarchy, the greater prestige the magister would receive.

Like everything else in the Imperium, the whole process gave Hawke a headache. It was unclear if she'd inherited Hadriana's apprenticeship, but the Tevinter law made it clear that an apprenticeship could not be dissolved unless the magister gave back all of the gifts received along the years. Until Hawke could find an exact record of everything Hadriana had given Danarius, she was stuck with her. And she wouldn't ask Hadriana, either; she wouldn't put it past the apprentice to conveniently forget one item or another then drag Hawke to court for not respecting protocol.

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Sitting at a desk and rifling through papers for so long had given her a nasty crick. Hawke sat back and looked across the room.

By the door, Fenris sat stock-still, the sharp edges of his black armor glinting in the artificial light of the study. He looked straight ahead, apparently engaged in a staring contest with the wall. That first night, in the dim light of the bedroom, when he was half-naked and vulnerable, Hawke had felt strangely protective towards the elf. The next day, however...

The next day, however, Severian had insisted on presenting the slaves to her. He'd shown her the kitchens and explained all the dishes each slave could cook, and most of them did, indeed, sound mouth-watering, then he lined up the cleaning staff, picking at all their faults, but insisting that under his firm hand, they would do their job properly (and an "or else..." echoed in his voice), and finally,  _finally_ , he said with something akin to jubilation, the prize piece of the collection, out in the courtyard, where he'd arranged a demonstration.

To her shock, out in the courtyard was none other than Fenris, surrounded by what had to be two dozen of Danarius'-well,  _hers_  now—soldiers. The elf was clad in that strange black armor, carrying a sword that she would have thought too big for him to even lift. He did not look at Hawke and, at a signal from Severian, the soldiers lunged to attack him.

What followed was possibly the most astounding display of martial prowess Hawke had ever witnessed in her entire life. The elf's markings flashed, and he started moving, twisting, blocking, and picking off the soldiers on by one. Every single one of his movements, smooth and practiced, would have made Carver look hilariously clumsy by comparison. And her brother was not such a terrible swordsman to begin with.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him, and she caught a glimpse of the grim intensity on his face. He was not killing any of them (likely he'd been instructed not to), but he was incapacitating them efficiently. The numbers of soldiers dwindled, to ten, to six, to three... Yet, Fenris' movements only became more focused, more dangerous. He was down to the last one now and that was when it happened... His hand was bathed in the unmistakeable blue glow of lyrium and went right through the chest of the final soldier.

Severian let out a shout of surprise. The soldier let out a blood-curdling scream and convulsed around Fenris' hand. Hawke stared in incomprehension for a long, lingering moment before a twinge of desperation had her leaning forward and yelling a firm "No!"

Fenris retracted his hand, looking towards Hawke for the first time. His expression was unreadable, but he stood still, expecting... something from her. Hawke was not sure what. The soldier collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath while two of his comrades rushed to his side.

"I'm sorry, mistress, he was not meant to do that," Severian was babbling at Hawke's side. "In fact," the steward continued crossly, "he was strictly forbidden. If you wish to punish him, you may do so now."

Severian produced a slave whip. Fenris seemed to straighten up at the sight of it, but his eyes blazed as he watched Hawke, waiting to see what she would do. He was defiant, Hawke realized suddenly.

"He has always been a spirited one," Severian continued, holding out the whip for her. "Even Lord Danarius had difficulties with the 'little wolf'. You are certainly a kind woman, I can see, and doubtless this goes against your... Fereldan sensibilities, but believe me that you would be doing this one a kindness, mistress." He gave Fenris a baleful look.

"What was it?" Hawke asked, striding over to Fenris.

"Pardon, mistress?" Severian scurried after her.

She kneeled next to the soldier and cast a short healing spell on him.

"That thing he did at the end," she said. "What was it?"

"The... the lyrium markings give him the ability to... pass through objects," Severian replied slowly. "Lord Danarius called it... phasing, I think. It was an old experiment of his. He enjoyed the thought of his enemies having their hearts ripped out of their chests."

"I see." The soldier thanked Hawke reverently before making himself scarce. "Then Danarius put those markings on you?" she asked Fenris directly.

"He did, mistress," Severian answered in the elf's stead. "It was a heavy investment, as well. The lyrium alone did not come cheap, but from what I understand, the research was quite involved at well."

Hawke stared at Fenris and Fenris stared back, his expression cold.

"Put that thing away, Severian," Hawke instructed without breaking the gaze.

"Then—you are pleased, mistress?" Severian asked with confusion, wrapping up the whip and putting it in one of his coat's inner pockets.

Hawke refrained from pointing out that she was not refusing to whip Fenris because she was "pleased", but because it was a bloody awful thing to do. Trying to explain basic morals to Tevinters always left her with massive headaches.

"Where is Danarius' research?" she said instead.

That was when he showed her to Danarius' study.

Later, her family arrived. Mother set off to re-order the house immediately. Carver walked the length and breadth of the house, muttering to himself until finally he reached the back of the house, where the estate's hired swords were training, at which point he joined them with gusto. Bethany, on the other hand, had locked herself in the library and insisted she not be disturbed. Having seen the dizzying size of the library, Hawke could not blame her. In fact, had it not been for all the million things that needed doing, she'd probably have joined her sister.

It was times like these she missed her father. He would have been rubbish at paperwork, but at least she wouldn't have been responsible for it.

But now, there was another dilemma that occupied her mind, and Fenris exemplified it perfectly. What to do with the slaves?

The obvious answer was, free them. And had this been two years ago, when she'd barely reached the Imperium, by the Maker, she would have freed them all the instant she got to the property. However, there was the inconvenient fact that freed slaves did not always fare well. She could not very well throw them into the streets, even if she gave them money to get by. It was not simply that they were not used to functioning autonomously in society (which Maker knew, some really weren't right away), but that society had a distinct bias against them.

A magister of her acquaintance had explained this to her as caused by "the stink of slavery", before going on to tell her in great detail that some people were simply meant to be slaves and that they were happy, anyway, to be given a purpose in life, and that freeing them would be a great injustice. Thinking back on that particularly unlikable magister, Hawke was glad she'd killed him. For that,  _and_  for trying to sic three different kinds of demon on her.

Either way, she'd sent word out among the slaves that she would free any who requested it. While her initial offer was met with distrust, by the end of the day, at least a third of the house slaves came forward. Initially, she'd been disappointed by the low number, but sometimes she caught them glimpsing at her nervously. Ah, she realized. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So she freed the ones who requested it and offered to hire them as servants. Surprisingly, nearly all accepted. She expected that, once they received their first pay at the end of the week, more would dare to come forward. She merely had to wait for them to get used to the idea, to stop thinking it was some sort of trap.

Fenris, however, confounded her. When she asked him if he wanted to be free, he'd thrown her an almost desperate look and asked her if she was displeased with him. She denied that, of course, assuring him that he'd been nothing but exemplary (well, except for giving that soldier's heart a friendly squeeze, and she still didn't know what had brought  _that_  on, but she was willing to bet it wasn't the kind of thing he would have done if he'd been a free man), and told him that it was simply the idea of owning slaves in general that bothered her.

"It is the way of the world," he told her then, his voice full of—not conviction, exactly. Resignation?

"It isn't the way where _I_  come from," she replied firmly.

"Your homeland is still a barbaric place," he replied, making her choke.

Usually, she felt the urge to snap in half any man who spoke ill of Ferelden. Dog-smelling mud-land it might have been, and full of templars to boot, but it was still her childhood home. Fenris, however, said these things with such naïve conviction that she could not stand to get angry at him.

So he fell into the same pattern that he did with Danarius, following her at every step, entering rooms before her, always standing silent guard somewhere in the background as she went about her business. Carver sneered at Hawke when he saw her being trailed like this, ("What do  _you_  need a bodyguard for, anyway?") and Bethany dithered nervously, unsure what to do, but Mother treated him with a sort of painstaking politeness that had Fenris confused. Leandra Hawke was made just as uncomfortable by slaves as her children, but she dealt with it by pretending they were merely servants and treating them as such.

In the meantime, she still hadn't made other sleeping arrangements for him, or for herself, for that matter. She still used the guest room, and she walked in one night to discover Fenris had dragged the divan at the foot of her bed. He was kneeling next to the divan, looking like a little Mabari puppy that knew he had done something bad. She pretended nothing was out of order, but deeper down, she knew it was not healthy for him to act so dependent on her.

* * *

"You must understand, I have never taught before," Hawke explained to Hadriana. "I wasn't even formally trained."

"I understand," Hadriana replied confidently. They were in Danarius' old study, Hawke at his desk and Hadriana on one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of it. Fenris was by the door, as usual, so silent and still, he might as well been a piece of furniture. An angry, glowy piece of furniture that could rip a man's heart out.

"I don't think you really do," Hawke said. "I was trained solely by my father, who was an apostate. He'd received training at the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall, but mostly we didn't have books and most of my knowledge is of a practical nature."

"Yes, and doubtless it is this unique education that has made you a force in Minrathous," Hadriana gushed.

Hawke's lips tightened in a line, but she continued.

"And most importantly, I don't practice blood magic."

Hadriana's toadying smile faltered at that.

"That must be a novel concept around these parts," Hawke chuckled at the Tevinter woman's expression.

"It's not... unheard of," Hadriana said, licking her lips thoughtfully. "But... if you are this strong  _now,_  without aid..."

Hawke grew annoyed when she realized where Hadriana was headed.

"...Then imagine what you could do if you had... help."

"No."

"N-no?"

Hadriana recoiled at Hawke's dark expression.

"No. As long as I live, I will not carve out a piece of my soul to make room for a demon. I am not a fool. If I am meant to be strong, then that strength will be mine alone, and not borrowed from something that only wants to use me as a stepladder to this side of the Veil."

"The demons do not control blood mag-"

"No."

"But-"

"No, Hadriana." Hawke repeated, slowly, as if talking to a dullard or a small child.

Hadriana flushed, frustration visible on her face.

"I've heard these arguments numerous times, and I doubt hearing them again will make them any more convincing. You are free to think me a fool for not resorting to blood magic, and I will think you a fool for using it, and that is what we in Ferelden call 'agreeing to disagree'."

"Yes, Lady Hawke," Hadriana said with feigned meekness.

"If you wish to dissolve your apprenticeship, you are free to do so," Hawke said. It was the only way for Hawke to get out of this ridiculous engagement without repercussions: if Hadriana chose to back out of the arrangement herself.

"I do not," Hadriana said quickly. "I believe that I would benefit greatly from your knowledge."

Hawke almost snorted at that. It wasn't her  _knowledge_ that Hadriana sought to benefit from, it was her social status. The young magister wished to hitch a ride on Hawke's ascending fortunes.

Before she could reply, there was a knock on the door.

One of the slaves-cum-servant poked her head in.

"Mistress, the man you were expecting has arrived," she said vaguely, as she'd been instructed to do if Hadriana was present.

"Ah, good. Hadriana, I will be back in a moment."

Hawke hurried to the door. Fenris made to move, but she gestured for him to stop.

"Stay here," she instructed firmly. "And keep an eye on her," she added too low for Hadriana to hear.

She closed the door behind her and went to the antechamber, where a shady character was eying a golden statuette with a type of appreciation that had nothing to do with love of art. Severian was watching the man in turn, displeasure etched all over his face.

The man worked for a cheerful magister named Quintus. Unusually sweet-tempered for a magister, Quintus had helped Hawke in the past, usually by sending work her way. According to him, his grandmother had been an Amell, and he felt a certain kinship with the Hawke family. Hawke did not know if that was true, as Quintus claimed he was related in some fashion to half of Minrathous, but she found the man delightful, in his own way.

Today, however, she needed his help for something else. Apart from his legal holdings, Danarius had had his fingers in many illicit pies. Quintus, too, had some... questionable connections, which made him the perfect person to consult on this matter.

She had a short exchange with the man, during which she arranged to meet him after nightfall to investigate one of the leads into Danarius' affairs and to negotiate payment. While she no longer lived in squalor, she was not going to let the man fleece her just for the fun of it. The entire thing couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes.

She returned to the study only to walk in on a startling scene. Fenris was on the ground, crouched forward so far that his forehead touched the floor, while Hadriana loomed over him. The light of a spell was dissipating from around her hand and Fenris' markings glowed intensely for a moment longer.

"What are you doing?" Hawke thundered.

Hadriana jumped back, fear all over her face.

"Nothing, Lady Hawke," she said quickly. "He was being impertinent." Then, seeing that this argument did not win Hawke over, sneered with disgust, "He put his hands on me."

"Well,  _I'm_  about to put my hands on  _you_ ," Hawke growled, and Hadriana shrunk back. 'Coward,' Hawke thought. "Get out of my house."

Hadriana all but ran past Hawke and down the stairs.

Hawke slammed the door shut behind her, sitting down next to Fenris.

"Are you alright?" she asked, reaching out to touch him. Her hand brushed lightly against his hair, and he flinched back violently.

"I'm undamaged," he replied, his voice tense with pain. He uncoiled and rose to his knees.

"But are you alright?" she insisted.

He was avoiding her gaze. She reached out and cupped his cheek, turning his face to look at her.

"What did she do to you?" Hawke asked as kindly as possible.

"It was... something Danarius taught her," Fenris replied. "Activating the lyrium in my body. For... punishment." He winced.

"And what did she presume to punish you for?" Hawke said.

"She tried to leave the room, to follow you. I... stopped her."

Hawke sighed audibly. Fenris looked away again. He was probably expecting punishment from her, too.

"I'm sorry, mistress. I assumed... I assumed you wouldn't want her overhearing your meeting."

"Of course not. You did the right thing, Fenris," Hawke assured. "She the one who—she's the—she's... ugh, I don't even have the words for that snake. I wish I could be rid of her."

Fenris looked hopeful.

"Then... I've proven my use to you?"

"Fenris, you never had anything to prove to me," Hawke shook her head. By his hurt expression, though, he took the remark the wrong way. Maker strike her down if she was going to praise anyone for being a good little slave. "That is—I... I like you," she settled on saying in the end, rather lamely. "But I don't think a person can, or should, own another. Wouldn't you like to be free?"

"What would be the point?" Fenris shrugged slightly.

"Don't you want to do whatever you want? To be free to make your own choices?"

"Can  _you_  do whatever you want?" he said, giving Hawke pause.

"Well, no," she admitted. What she  _wanted_  was to be free of Hadriana, what she  _wanted_  was to return to a bright and happy Ferelden where the mages were free to frolic in the fields, what she  _wanted_  was to be able to talk to Carver without ending up yelling, or to Bethany without catching the twinge of envy in her voice. "Not everything... But at least I have  _some_  of the things I want."

Fenris frowned.

"Isn't there something you'd like to be free to do? Anything?" Hawke insisted.

"Now?"

"Now. Tomorrow. Anytime."

Fenris remained still for a moment, then, before Hawke could react, she found herself on her back on the floor, her head smarting something awful from the impact.

"If I were free," Fenris whispered, his face hovering above hers, so close she could feel his breath against her lips, "If I were free, I could hurt you." From this angle, all she could see were his eyes, peering at her with that same intensity she'd seen in him before phasing his hand through a soldier's chest.

"Do you want to hurt me?" Hawke asked, her voice just as low.

"I—I can't." Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. He wanted  _something_ , she could see that, but even he wasn't sure what. "You're my mistress. I can't hurt you."

"Being your... mistress... would not shield me from having my heart crushed like an overripe fruit," she said.

"I... it's..." He drew back, getting off of Hawke and shuffling away from her until his back hit the leg of a table. "You're trying to confuse me," he said, his tone accusatory.

Hawke propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him with a tight grin.

"You're already confused. I'm trying to set you straight."

 

She'd only paid cursory attention to Danarius' research until then, choosing to focus on the more mundane problems of managing the household. However, she managed to dig out a journal documenting the progress of his 'lyrium infusion' research. To her horror, it was mostly a long list of the gruesome ways in which his test-subjects expired. Her stomach did an uncomfortable wrenching motion as she read through clinical descriptions of horrific mutilations and screaming deaths.

Under each subject's number (they did not have names; likely they'd been slaves), there were calculations, complicated equations that went completely over Hawke's head. Malcolm Hawke's approach to magic had been more intuitive (his favorite word had, in fact, been "guesstimate", which he often encouraged his girls to do, until she and Bethany pointed out that he overused it). She wasn't stupid, she knew how to do her sums, but she'd never been taught how to calculate things like volume and percentages, and certainly not how to apply that to the blood to lyrium ratio necessary to make a spell work a certain way, or to calculate how much pure lyrium could be shot into a person without it becoming toxic and eventually lethal. Magisters seemed to have a very pragmatic approach to magic, putting great emphasis on "replicating under similar conditions". They certainly didn't view magic as an inherently subjective and wild force, as mages outside the Imperium did.

She flipped to the end, but even that did not make her feel any better. He'd reached an estimation of the age, weight, height and physical fitness a subject would need to have in order to withstand the lyrium infusion procedure and live, as well as the amount of lyrium that was least likely to kill him, and the next part of the journal documented the success of the experiment, but she was struck by two things. The first was that the subject being discussed here was Fenris (and Maker, he'd been just a teenager when this took place), and the second was that Danarius had had no great expectation for the elf to survive. Fenris could have  _died_ , right there on the table, as they injected lyrium into him, and, if she was reading this right, he'd been  _conscious_  during the ritual.

"Oh, Maker..." she whispered.

She looked up to Fenris, standing next to the door-completely impassive, not even noticing her scrutiny—and it was as if she'd been expecting to see him writhing in pain. She took a deep breath, however, assuring herself that he was alright now, that he was safe.

She sighed and looked back down. Why was it that everything about him seemed to make her feel heartsick?

Reading on (the lack of rampant death in this part of the journal made it infinitely easier to read), she gleaned that Danarius' experiments had had something to do with entering the Fade physically. Hawke nearly scoffed at that idea (she was pretty sure the Tevinter magisters had tried it before and it had been an unmitigated failure), and it was clear that the phasing abilities that Fenris gained had been only a side-effect. Even Danarius was not entirely sure how they worked, except that Fenris somehow reached through the Veil, allowing part of him to become insubstantial.

Hawke snapped the journal closed. Danarius had been almost as brilliant as he'd been twisted.

"Fenris," she said, pushing the journal away like it was a dead animal. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Fenris looked adorably confused at the question (and Hawke was going to bet that he didn't get asked for input often), so she merely took his silence for a yes and gestured for him to follow her.

In the antechamber, he helped her put her cloak on, and she pretended he was doing it because he was being a gentleman, and not because he'd been trained his entire life to do such things for his master.

* * *

Hawke was not a dainty noble lady who took walks in the afternoon in order to break up her boring routine. She had  _things_  to do, important things, and she never left the house without a purpose in mind. Fenris had known her a short time, and even he knew this about her.

But he did not voice his puzzlement as he shadowed her through the residential district of Minrathous. The streets looked vaguely familiar, but it was not until he saw the ivy-covered walls of Hadriana's house that he realized they were headed there.

He swallowed his apprehension and his stride did not falter.

It was happening. His mistress had realized Hadriana had been justified in punishing him. She was going to make amends and leave him to the apprentice's tender cares as an apology. His markings started aching in anticipation of Hadriana's famed 'discipline'.

He tried not to feel betrayed. He'd brought this upon himself. His mistress could never trust him again after he'd manhandled and threatened her. Danarius might not have killed or gotten rid of him, but that was because of his vast financial value. His new mistress had no such qualms. He was merely an asset inherited from an enemy.

He swallowed the knot in his throat as the door opened and Hawke told Hadriana's slave that she'd come to call on her.

His mind blanked with rising terror, not only at being left here at Hadriana's mercy, but being left here by  _her_ , by that strange mistress who petted his hair and looked at him as if he were truly a person.

Hadriana arrived clad only in house robes and an expression of false modesty.

"I am honored to have you in my humble home," Hadriana said, gesturing to the lavishly decorated atrium around her.

"I will be brief, Hadriana. Dissolve your apprenticeship," Hawke said brusquely.

Shock crawled over Hadriana's face, though it was nothing compared to Fenris' own. Whatever he expected Hawke to say, it was not  _that._

"I beg your pardon?" Hadriana said slowly.

"You heard me the first time." Hawke strode purposefully towards her. "You will go down to the notary and dissolve your apprenticeship to me. You will do this, or else I will  _kill you_. And I will not do it like a cowardly Tevinter, sending assassins. I will come after you myself. If you're lucky."

"If I'm—?"

"If you're not," Hawke interrupted, "then I will hand you over to Fenris, and have him do to you what he will."

Hadriana's eyes flashed over Hawke's shoulder to Fenris, and while he knew he should have played his role as the impassive, heartless bodyguard, he couldn't really help the vicious grin that spread over his face. It seemed to play into Hawke's game well enough, though, because Hadriana looked genuinely terrified at that prospect.

"I—I don't understand what I've done to-"

"No. You do not understand. You are a cruel, petty person, seeking status in a morally bankrupt society. You are not  _equipped_  to understand what you've done wrong. But to put it in terms I loathe, but you might better understand, you touched one of my slaves without my permission." By this point, Hawke was inches from Hadriana's face and speaking in a low, dangerous register that made even Fenris' hair stand on end. "I do not like you very much, Hadriana. If we cross paths again, such an event might not be beneficial to your health. Do you understand?"

Hadriana nodded, struck speechless by terror.

"Good." Hawke turned around and brushed imaginary dust off her sleeve. "Tell everyone you don't want to apprentice for the crazy Fereldan bitch, if that will help you save face."

By the expression on Hadriana's face, Fenris guessed that that phrase was one she'd used to describe Hawke to someone. Clearly Hadriana did not expect Hawke to find out what she'd been saying behind the Fereldan's back.

Hawke began humming on the way home, a low, wending melody reminiscent of southern lands of rolling green hills.

* * *

At moments like these, it seemed to Hawke as if Danarius was reaching from beyond the grave to vex her personally.

She'd settled nearly all his outstanding affairs. She closed his account at the Arcanist House of Minrathous, she redrew contracts for all the tenants in all the properties he owned throughout the city, she even arranged for his cremation, because it seemed like the polite thing to do. She hadn't done as much for her own  _father_  when he died, though granted, he'd been a much poorer man and they'd needed to leave Ferelden quite abruptly after his death.

And here she was, trying to shut down the smuggling ring she'd inherited from the magister. Currently, that involved plenty of crouching in dank, dark alleys, and it was murder on her knees. Fenris didn't seem to have a problem with the awkward position, and neither did Petro, the "guide" Quintus had provided her with. Well, maybe she'd become coddled, now that she had a mansion with comfortably plush furniture.

"Since Danarius died," Petro was explaining in a low whisper, "they haven't really changed operations. They assume you don't know about the... you know, the stuff."

Petro gave one of those shifty-eyed looks that made Hawke wonder how the Constabulary hadn't picked him up already just for looking so much like a criminal.

"The stuff they're smuggling?" Hawke said.

Petro nodded and twitched. 'Oh, great Maker, where did Quintus find this man?' Hawke asked herself.

"Do you know what it is?" Hawke asked.

"Well, I'm not... that is... I'm small fry, I don't really..."

Hawke leaned forward slightly, and deep in her cloak, hidden from the street, her hand glowed with magic. Over her shoulder, she could feel Fenris glaring at Petro.

"Give your best guess," she said tersely.

"Um, well," Petro licked his lips. "It's lyrium."

"That's hardly illegal," Hawke noted.

"No, uh, no, the problem is where it's coming from," Petro said with a twitch of his head. "They say Danarius, um, that is, I know this guy, see? He's a mage, but not really good enough to be a magister? And, um, there's a test you can do to find out where the lyrium comes from. And, um, once, he tested some of Danarius' stuff and he matched it to, um... the Imperial stuff. Like, the stuff only the really important buggers are allowed to use?"

"He was stealing from the Archon's reserves?" Hawke asked, honestly aghast at his daring.

"He was stealing from the Archon's  _shipments_ ," Petro clarified. "He got 'em straight from the dwarves."

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

"Right. This is bad. I can't let this get traced back to me. We need to bust them up."

Petro paled.

"Y-you don't understand, the man Danarius left in charge, um, Cassius, the one who took over operations?" he said, "He's a bad sort. Like, bad, bad, um, bad kind of sort. You don't want him as an enemy."

"I'll not have him as an enemy if he's dead," Hawke replied.

* * *

Strictly speaking, she should not have attempted to break up a smuggling ring aided only by her bodyguard and a twitchy criminal. Oh, Fenris was unfailing as always, very dedicated, but Petro was a nervous mess. He followed her, certainly, partly because Hawke promised him a hefty reward and partly because she also said she'd chase him down and melt his brain if he dared run off, but the way he held onto his daggers, like they were his lifeline, she didn't expect him to be much help.

Surprisingly, he  _did_ make himself useful. When they first knocked down the door of the smuggling ring's warehouse, Petro disappeared, leaving only Hawke and Fenris to be swarmed by about a dozen angry smugglers. He reappeared only later, nervously wiping blood off his daggers with a rag, and that was when she saw the corpses of three thugs and a mage, all with their backs sporting several extra holes. He also managed to find Cassius' lieutenant and incapacitate him with some sort of poison, making him just ready for interrogation.

It was at that point that Hawke made a mental note to double his reward when this was over.

They never got around to interrogating the lieutenant, however, because that was the exact moment Cassius made his appearance on the catwalk above.

"Magister Hawke," came the man's voice, sounding amused more than anything. Hawke looked up at an unexpectedly handsome middle-aged man with wild black hair, leaning against a railing. "I was expecting you," he said, a sly little smile insinuating itself on his face.

" _Nobody_  expects me," Hawke said, adjusting her grip on her staff. "So you must be Cassius."

"That I am," Cassius said, chuckling low. Slowly, deliberately, and holding his hands up to show he was not a threat, he made his way to the stairs and started walking down. "And you see, I knew you'd come for your cut eventually."

"My cut?" Hawke repeated dryly.

"Of course," he continued smoothly. "Danarius set up this operation. He took a generous cut of the profits as well. He was not very hands-on, alas. We communicated only through intermediaries. But after I found out that you inherited his property-" Cassius' eyes flicked towards Fenris briefly, "I knew you would come yourself to take over business. You struck me as that kind of woman." He finally reached the ground floor and stopped in front of Hawke, giving her an appreciative look at that last remark. He didn't hear the low growl Fenris gave him.

"I came here to shut you down," Hawke replied. "Not to become your new boss."

"And here I thought you just killed all my men to make a point," Cassius chuckled, gesturing towards the corpses strewn across the floor.

"It's a merciful fate compared to what the Archon's Guard would have done to them if he ever found out you were stealing lyrium from him."

Cassius clicked his tongue. "Now, now, you know what they say. Great risk yields great reward."

"Really? Because in Ferelden we say 'Quit while you're ahead'," Hawke snorted. "Believe me when I say, I'm doing you a favor."

Cassius laughed, a rich, disarming sound she would not have associated with a hardened criminal.

"Oh, my dear lady," he reached out and grasped her hand, "I am sure the two of us are going to reach a... mutually beneficial agreement," he purred.

Hawke did not have time to reply, because in the blink of an eye, Cassius was no longer before her, holding her hand, but smacked against the opposite wall, with Fenris' hand sunk deep in his chest.

"She said 'no'," the elf growled in the dying man's face, as Cassius made an unsettling gurgling sound.

"Fenris-" Hawke started, but just like that, it was over: Fenris pulled his hand out, holding Cassius' crushed heart.

Petro let out a wail and bolted to a distant corner to retch, but Fenris turned around, still holding the heart as a bloody offering, steam wafting slowly from the organ.

Hawke felt words escape her completely. Fenris looked at Hawke, eyes wide and desperate, waiting for her to do or say something, to praise or punish him. Under her stare of mute horror, however, he felt himself unravel, and he dropped the gory trophy on the ground.

 

Tevinters did many things in needlessly complicated ways, in this case bathing. Whereas in Ferelden, most people could make do with a bucket of lukewarm water and a decent washcloth, in the Imperium, it was a long, drawn-out affair, involving bathing oils, long scrubbing brushes with elegant handles, magically-heated water, and at least three slaves to undress, wash and dry you off.

Hawke had no patience for that sort of thing, so she instead filled the bath tub with hot water, chased out the servants, and sunk herself to her nose, forgoing the jars and bottles crowded on the stand next to the bath. She washed off the grime, sweat and blood, changed the water, and settled in for a long soak.

She was most definitely  _not_  brooding.

She probably should have been glad that things worked out. Setting the warehouse on fire had been an elegant solution, and after the lyrium overheated and exploded, the bodies and all other evidence were destroyed. Freezing the adjacent building solid stopped the fire from spreading, and Petro disappeared into the night, mumbling something about sending him his payment through Quintus.

The walk home had been awkward, to say the least. Fenris retreated into himself, refusing to make eye contact or even so much as look in her direction. She had to face the fact that she'd mishandled him, though it was hardly surprising considering the fact that she barely knew how to handle him in the first place.

What was wrong with her? She'd managed to get nearly all of the house slaves freed and hired as servants instead. Yet Fenris resisted any change to his situation; she suspected that part of the reason was because so much of his identity revolved around being a slave in the first place. After all, Severian (and probably Danarius, as well) described Fenris as 'the prize piece of the collection'. Danarius had been highly attached to his 'little wolf', from what Severian told her, but she'd also gleaned the fact that Danarius had been a temperamental master, who expressed his affection either by raping Fenris, or by attempting to beat the defiance out of him.

Personally, she longed to see defiance more often from him. That would have at least indicated that being a slave bothered him.

What bothered  _her_  most, however, was the fact that Fenris, as he was now, would probably be a dangerous individual, given autonomy. He was desensitized to violence (something he doubtlessly had Danarius to thank for) and if he were free to follow his impulses, he'd probably end up hurting people. She realized this when he ripped Cassius' heart out and then looked at her for approval. Doubtless, Danarius would have approved. She could not. Killing someone like Cassius was inevitable, and a favor done to the world. Killing him in such a cruel and painful manner, however...

She shook her head, trying to wipe the image of that mangled heart from her mind.

She needed a plan. She was  _good_ at plans, albeit at the simple, "go there and kill that guy" type of plans. She liked to have a clear course of action.

Maybe  _she_ was the problem? She led a strange and violent life, herself. She couldn't very well expect Fenris to make a break with his old life if she kept dragging him into these situations where he had to fall back on old instincts.

* * *

She hadn't brought along a change of clothes, so she put on a dark red bath robe hanging in the bathing room. The fabric felt incredibly soft against her skin. She felt odd walking down the hall wearing nothing but the thin robe, which fell to just below the knee, however, she reasoned, it was her damn house, and if she wanted to walk around naked as the Maker made her, she  _would_. But she ducked into the room quickly, even if it was the middle of the night and nobody walked the halls.

As she entered the room, she saw Fenris in his customary position, kneeled at the foot of the bed, but his shoulders were slumped, and his face was lowered more than usual, his hair falling over his eyes. She'd told him to clean up and get something to eat from the kitchens, but while he was clean, she had a sneaking suspicion that he might have eaten very little, just enough to barely follow her order. In the absence of a punishing master, Fenris sometimes punished himself all on his own.

She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She was too overwrought and underdressed to deal with this right now, but she couldn't stand to see him suffer like this. If she put it off until morning, he might not sleep a wink during the night.

"Fenris, come here, please," she said softly.

She winced at the way he crawled across the floor to stop in front of her legs. His head remained lowered.

Hawke placed a hand under his chin and lifted his head to look at her. He leaned forward into her hand, a gesture that reminded her a little too much of a dog nuzzling his master's hand. She released him, and he kept his position, looking up at her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I disappointed you," he said a little too quickly. "I shouldn't have killed that man. I shouldn't have acted without instruction." He leaned forward more, and his hands rose to grasp the hem of her robe in pleading. "Don't send me away, mistress," he whispered, eyes wide and frightened. "I won't do it again! I will be good, I  _promise_."

This tirade almost made Hawke cry. Maker help her, she hadn't cried since Father died, and Fenris was going to make her bawl like a babe.

"Fenris,  _no,_ " she said, her voice wavering, "You don't understand. I would have probably had to kill Cassius either way. You didn't—It's not what you  _did_ , it was how you did it."

Fenris stared, his green eyes wide and uncomprehending.

"I'm not Danarius, do you understand? I don't enjoy seeing people suffer," she said, then, smoothing a wild lock of his hair, "Or making people suffer, myself. I don't want you to do these things for me. I don't want to see you commit casual acts of cruelty for my entertainment. I want you to show more initiative, yes—but not to do this."

Fenris nodded.

"And I'm definitely not sending you away," she added. "Not if you want to stay."

"I do!" he said quickly. "I want to stay with you," he added in a lower voice.

"There you have it, then," Hawke nodded. "Feeling better?"

Fenris nodded, and his hands unclenched from her robe, resting lightly on her knees.

Hawke was feeling quite good about herself just about then, when Fenris lowered his head again and started planting light kisses on her knees, first on her left one, then on her right, then back on her left, pushing her robe out of the way and moving increasingly upwards.

She suppressed the urge to flinch and accidentally knee him in the face, but she placed both her hands firmly on his shoulders to stop his advance.

"Ah, Fenris—what...?"

He looked up at her. Hawke's mouth felt unnaturally dry all of a sudden, but she recovered herself.

"Fenris, what are you doing?" she asked in her you-are-not-in-trouble-please-don't-give-me-the-kicked-puppy-look voice, which had received much practice since meeting Fenris.

"I  _want_  to," he whispered fiercely.

Hawke felt heat overtake her. Her mind was firmly telling her that this was a bad, bad idea, but her body was completely on board with it, leaving her heart a guilty, indecisive mess. And her feet were cold, but that was another problem entirely.

And now she was painfully aware of the fact that she was completely naked under the robe, and of his hands, so warm on the sides of her legs, and him, looking at her expectantly, and the feeling of him under her hands, of the muscles lining his shoulders, rippling under his skin. On a base level, she wanted this, too. She thought it would be so much better than those farmboys from Lothering, who fumbled their way around her body, who she often wanted to push away the second she got her release. She wanted to sink her hands through his hair and pull him into a kiss, she wanted to feel him against her, but she was afraid that Fenris did not truly know  _what_ he wanted.

"Why?" she asked, her voice thick. "Why do you want to?"

"I... don't know," he whispered. "I simply do."

"I can't—I can't do this, if you're only trying to please me. I can't let you," she said. It was hard to come up with an argument against this, when she didn't really feel like changing his mind.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he turned his attention back to her legs, swirling his tongue just over her knee cap. Hawke choked back a squeal, but no matter how tightly she kept her legs closed, it did not stop the heat that started to pulse between them.

"You wanted me to show initiative," he rumbled, and his voice alone chipped away at her resistance. She certainly didn't mean initiative in  _this_ , but it was too late to correct him now. Maybe she was biased, but refusing his advances would have felt too much like denying him the first thing he ever asked for.

She sighed, deeply, breathing out the last of her hesitation, then moved her hands from his shoulders to either side of his head, and leaned down.

He inhaled deeply when their lips touched, as if surprised by the kiss. But he reciprocated eagerly, and a satisfied moan rumbled deep in his throat. He surprised her just a bit when his tongue delved into her mouth, exploring her carefully. 'Initiative is good,' she thought giddily.

They broke off eventually, both of them out of breath, and she leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes and savoring his proximity.

"Does this mean..." Fenris started nervously, and she looked at him. "Does this mean I may... join you in bed?"

She smiled and brought her lips to his ear.

"Anything you want," she whispered. He shivered and his breath hitched.

He untied the cord of her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, and she allowed him to do so, letting the robe hang on the crooks of her elbows while he drank her in with an intensity that was making her heat up pleasantly.

Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out to touch her. Hawke tried not to laugh at his indecision about  _where_  to touch her, as he eventually settled on her clavicle. He traced it slowly, before his hand dipped lower, tracing a line down, between her breasts.

Hawke decided that at this rate, they were never going to get to the good stuff, so she scooted backwards to make room on the bed for him and then, grabbing his forearm, gently pulled him towards her. In the process, the robe was abandoned completely and fell to the floor.

Fenris held her gaze as her hovered over her, and Hawke saw it then, the glint of the wolf in his eyes. He lowered himself onto her, kissing her, deeper than before, more desperately. She held him in turn, her hands moving lightly over his back, feeling the markings under her fingers, following the patterns up and down. He moved to her jaw, and down her neck, and when he hit a certain spot at the junction of her neck and shoulder, she gasped and arched into him.

This only spurred him on. He kissed a trail down to her breasts and sucked on a nipple, and now she was  _more_  than ready. She let him explore in his own time, however, let him take as much control as he wanted.

He stopped what he was doing abruptly and looked up at her.

"Something wrong?" she asked, brushing a hand over his cheek. He grabbed that hand and kissed her palm.

"You won't change your mind?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

Hawke blinked, raising herself up on her elbows. Fenris rolled back to sit on his haunches.

"Do you want to stop?" she asked slowly.

"No!" he almost yelled. "No, I...  _No_." He looked lost for a moment, obviously regretting the lost momentum.

"You're overdressed," Hawke said, if only to get him out of his impasse.

Fenris looked down at his trousers with surprise, but he recovered the next moment and rushed to kick them off. He almost fell off the bed in the process (Hawke had never seen a man so eager to escape an article of clothing before), and she got just a glimpse of his naked form and his growing hardness before he was upon her once again. He smothered her with kisses, all over her face and neck and breasts, and she glided her hands up and down his body, so eager to touch him  _everywhere_ , never getting enough... The markings on his skin gave it a delicious textured feeling, and she could feel the lyrium buzzing under her fingertips, its proximity only fueling her hunger for him.

Eventually, her hand drifted lower and wrapped around his length. He stiffened at her touch, and made a noise in the back of his throat, and Hawke immediately knew she'd hit upon something with that gesture, made a mistake. She braced for immediate rejection at that point, but Fenris only removed her hand slowly and pinned it above her head.

"Don't do that. Not that. Please," he said, his voice unnaturally loud in the sudden stillness. There was a haunted quality to his eyes as he spoke. 'Something Danarius did to him,' Hawke thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Shh. I know. You wouldn't," he said, nuzzling the underside of her jaw.

Hawke licked her lips and considered offering to stop again, but before she could even form the words, in one convulsive movement, Fenris entered her. She gasped, her back arching. She promptly forgot all about stopping or Danarius, her perceptions now revolving only around Fenris and the fullness of him. It was at that very moment that she realized how much she'd craved this, being so close to him. Then he started moving, and this was an entirely new kind of bliss.

He looked at her as if she'd melt if he dared look away, and he rolled his hips with that same purposeful single-mindedness. She held on to him, meeting his gaze, her own hips rising up to meet him on every thrust. She felt the tension building in waves, radiating all throughout her body from her center, but all she wanted was for this to go on longer, so, so much longer, for the unique blend of pleasure and anticipation to last as much as possible. She never thought it could be like this, and this was all because of Fenris, because of his touch, and oh, Maker, here it was, here was the precipice: she was going to go over the edge and fall forever...

Fenris' pace grew frantic, and he came soon after she did, burying his face into her neck as he did so, gasping like a drowning man. His body grew limp over hers and he drew out of her slowly, shifting his weight off her. He ended face-down on the mattress next to Hawke, one arm across her chest and grasping her shoulder.

Hawke laughed silently and ran her fingers along the tattoos on that arm. Fenris seemed to have fallen asleep.

* * *

She managed to get Fenris awake enough to guide him under the sheets, but he was restless for the rest of the night, flinching awake and reaching out to her for reassurance. He would not let her hold him, so instead she whispered soothing nonsense to him and brushed his hair with her fingers until he fell asleep again. Twice, these instances of affection turned to sex, and if Fenris was even slower and more tentative, he was no less intense. Even in the darkness, Hawke could feel his eyes on her, and his fingers sinking into her flesh possessively.

By the time morning came, however, Hawke woke up to find Fenris gone. She felt a spike of panic at first, then puzzlement. In her sleep-addled mind, she somehow got the notion that he'd run away to escape slavery, and felt a twinge of sadness, for which she reprimanded herself: hadn't she wanted Fenris to be independent?

She rose out of bed and recovered the robe off the floor, shrugging it on. Her head was buzzing with a pleasant sort of fatigue, and she discovered where Fenris had gotten himself to. He was sitting on the divan, his back leaning against the foot of her bed, already wide awake, and he perked up visibly when Hawke sat next to him. She tried not to get too distracted by the fact that he was still completely naked.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"I wasn't sure you wanted me to stay," he said.

"Why wouldn't I?"

A shadow passed over his face. "Danarius always wanted me gone by dawn," he said low.

"He's dead, Fenris," Hawke said firmly. "He can't hurt you. And I—" she leaned over and kissed his cheek softly, "I can't imagine not having you around."

"I hated him," Fenris whispered. "I still do."

"He was a hateful man," Hawke murmured, tracing the markings on his bicep.

Hesitantly, his hand moved to her leg, touching her lightly. When she did not push him away, he trailed a path over her knee, smiling distantly.

"But I don't—hate—you," he added awkwardly after a while, his eyes darting away in embarrassment.

Hawke chuckled and planted a kiss on his shoulder.

"I can work with that," she said.


End file.
